The Weasley Trap
by Ziegod Lizski
Summary: Fred and George, eager for a trickster challenge, decide to set up Ron and Hermione. They definitely have their work cut out for them, though, in this fun romantic comedy.
1. Tahitian Babes

The Weasley Trap by Ziegod Lizski

Chapter 1

            It was amazing how many shades of red Ron Weasley's face could turn—There was carnation pink when he saw a pretty girl, the familiar crimson of embarrassment, the ruddiness of anger. At this moment, Ron's face was nearly purple in a physical show of pure, unbridled ire. There was only one person who could cause this shade—Hermione.

            "Insufferable bitch," he muttered darkly, slumping into a comfy chair between his two twin brothers. Normally, the sight of the roaring common room fire and the familiar Hogwarts musk would make him happy, but after a particular spat with his bushy-haired friend, he was far from delighted.

            "So where's the little vixen now?" Fred asked, grinning.

            "Who? 'Mione? I wouldn't call her a vixen. Stubborn mule is more like it…She's in the library. Mind if I hide out with you guys until this blows over?"

            "Mule? Not Hermione. She's more like a--"

            "Kitten," George finished, "A sex kitten. I don't think a mule could have as nice a booty as 'Mione's."

            "Ugh," Ron mock-gagged in disgust.

            "Come on now, Ronny. Sooner or later you're going to have to admit that your little girlfriend is really quite shagable," George beamed, proud of his ability to push all the right buttons.

            "She is NOT hot. She's Hermione. And she's NOT my girlfriend! When will you two get that through your thick skulls?"

            "Let me tell you a story, Ronniekins," Fred said, wrapping his arm around Ron's shoulders in a brotherly fashion, "Do you remember when Mum sent me and George to that wizard pre-school 'cause we were such a handful? Well, there was this really pretty girl named…er…Let's just call her Angel. Anyway, to let her know I liked her, I would pull her piggytails."

            "Right…And what do piggytails have to do with me and Herm?"

            "Everything."

            "Huh?"

            "Isn't it obvious, little brother? You pull her piggytails, she pulls yours--"

            "It's all sexual tension, really," George chimed in, admiring the way Ron's face was quickly turning magenta with a mix of embarrassment and anger. Groaning, he stood up and stormed off towards the portrait hole.

            "What's his problem?" George simpered. 

            "Dunno," Fred shrugged, "But it probably stems from a certain bushy-haired hottie—Hey! Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Georgey boy?"

            "Wow! Are you thinking about _Play Wizard_ playmates in Tahiti rubbing suntan lotion on themselves, too? It must be that psychic twin wavelength thingy!"

            "Uh, not exactly…I was thinking about helping Ronny and Hermione on their way to eternal bliss."

            "You mean play matchmakers?"

            "More on the lines of giving fate a helping hand."

            "Ah, and then the Tahitian babes?"

            "Exactly."

***

            Hermione sat curled up in a quiet corner of the library, comforted by the mustiness of antediluvian volumes, hidden by a mountain of books that balanced precariously on the table before her. Despite how hard she was trying to concentrate, she simply could not focus on writing her Potions essay. She would write a sentence, and then the thought of a certain redhead would float into her mind.

            Curse that Ron Weasley! All she had said was that perhaps there were better uses for time than obsessing over Quidditch and that if Ron spent less time poring over _Quidditch Illustrated_, then he might make better marks…His voice echoed inside her head:

            "God Hermione! You sound like my mum lecturing me about how I should be more like the great, almighty Percy! At least I _have_ a life! All you have are books!"

            As **_if_**! Hermione was proud of her top marks! 

            Ron could be such a dunderhead sometimes. But then there were those moments when—when…Hermione's head swam just thinking about it. Some nights when they had to stay up late to study, they would sit close together in the empty common room, warmed by the fire's flickering flames. She smiled as she recalled how every once in a while, their knees would brush—gently, casually—how she could hardly focus on her studying because of the nice clean boy smell emanating from Ron's robes…Yes, there were moments that Hermione wouldn't trade for all the gold in Gringotts…Damn him. He turned her life into a bad Julia Roberts movie.

            Suddenly, two identical heads popped out from behind a shelf of books, shaking Hermione out of her disjointed reverie with their brash voices.

            "Hullo--"

            "There--"

            "Hermio--"

            "Ne!"

            Not looking up from her work and in a dry voice, she responded, "What do you want, Forge?"

            Wiping a tear, Fred announced, "World peace!"

            George nodded and added, "A Tahitian _Play Wizard_ playmate."

            Hermione shook her head, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "Boys."

            "While we're on the subject of wishes, there is a wish that you could grant. You see, Ronnie wants nothing more in the world than to make up with you."

            "Oh, how sweet!" she touched her hand to her heart and batted her eyelashes, "Tell him to eat shit."

            Huffing, she slammed her Potions book shut and left.

            "Man, getting to Tahiti would be easier than getting those two together."

***

Love it? Hate it? Review!


	2. Granger Style

            Huffing, Hermione returned to the crystallized comfort of the dormitory, finding a piece of pink parchment on her bed. At first she shrugged it off as a misplaced love-letter for Lavender or Parvati, but curiosity got the best of her, and she opened it up. 

_Dear Hermiony,_

_You are the prettiest girl I've ever seen. I like you a lot! Meet me secretly in the common room at 1:00 tonight!_

_Love,_

_Ron_

***

            As instructed, Hermione arrived in the dark, deserted common room, convinced that someone was playing a trick on her. She spotted Ron sitting by the fire and held the letter up for him to see. 

            "Nice spelling job on my name, Ron."

            "But that's the way you spelled it on the letter you sent to me!"

            It seemed that the top of one of the couches had sprouted red hair and was muffling snickers. Hermione's eyes widened and she grabbed Ron.

            "Oh Ron," she declared in a melodramatic voice, "I'm so glad our feelings are finally out in the open!"

            "What?" Ron looked confused. Of course, Ron always looked confused.

            Hermione brought her lips to his ears and hissed, "It's the twins! They're trying to set us up! Just go with it!"

            "Oh Hermione," he said in a loud, gallant voice, "I've never seen you look so ravishing! You're like a…brown-haired…rose!"

            "And you Ron, are like a great, freckled…er…tiger—ready to conquer the jungle of my heart!"

            "I love you!"

            "I love you more!"

            "No, I love youmore!"

            "No, I love you more!"

            "No, I love you more!"

            "Oh, don't let us fight! Just hold me in your big…brawny…arms!"

            He gave a sly grin, "My arms aren't the only part of my body that's big."

            The sofa groaned in disgust.

            "Come on Ron, let's go somewhere a little more…cozy."

***

            Hermione pulled Ron into the common room rec closet, where they were certain the twins would not disturb them. Since the closet was rather small, they stood close together, and Hermione had to remind herself that she was angry so that she wouldn't swoon.

            "Why can't you have normal brothers?"

            He shrugged. "Dunno. At least they're not as bad as Percey…Insufferable git, always going on about those goddamn--"

            "Why don't we get even with them?"

            As Hermione wasn't exactly the original prankster, Ron was caught off guard.

            "Come on, Ron. Somebody's got to get those two one day…They tried to set us up! The nerve! The idea of you and me…it's…"

            Hermione suddenly realized that her face was inches from Ron's, and she lost her train of thought.

***

            Wearing a miniskirt and matching skank top from Aberzombie and Witch that she had borrowed from Lavender, Hermione awkwardly slunk into the common room, looking for George. Having a reputation for being the more "erotically charged" twin, he was the perfect target for a prank—Granger style. _That'll teach him to mess with me again_, she thought, hiking up her skirt a bit more.

            Taking a deep breath, she said in a poorly attempted sultry voice, "Hey there, big boy."

            "Um, hi Hermione," his voice cracked.

            "Mmmm…you have the sexiest voice."

            Bracing herself and taking another deep breath, she hopped into his lap and started stroking his arm, reminding herself that it was for the good of humanity that the twins be taught a lesson.

            "Wow! Your biceps are huge!"

            George's eyes widened. "Are you, by any chance, from Tahiti?"

            She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Yes."

            Suddenly, suspicion flickered across George's playmate-filled mind. Why was Hermione hitting on him when she loved Ron? But George, being George, could not place is finger on what was wrong. This was probably due to a recent bludger injury which had caused permanent brain damage…So George filled his empty head with thoughts of Tahitian babes in bikinis.

            Suddenly, Fred stormed up, having noticed that George had a glazed-over look on his face and a scantily clad Hermione was on his lap, whispering in his ear.

            "George! What do you think you're doing?"

            "Huh?"

            "Get over here!"

            He pulled George over in to a corner of the room and began to whisper excitedly, "What are you thinking, hitting on Ron's girl?"

            "She came on to me!"

            "Don't be silly, George."

            "No! Really, she did! I can't lie to you because of the psychic twin wavelength thingy."

            "But why would Hermione go after you when she's already got--"

            "Because she's discontent with Ron's…performance, that's why. She needs a nice, strong beater with a very large…club."

            "No, you great git! Don't you--"

            "Of course, it's not the size of the wave but the motion of the ocean that really matters."

            "Would you just shut up and listen? I'm trying to say that the only reason why Herm would hit on you is that she knows about our little plan…However, they don't know that we know they know! So keep at it, boy! We'll show them not to mess with Forge Weasley!"

***

The phrases "they don't know that we know they know" and "erotically charged" are borrowed from _Friends_. The rest of the jokes (I hope they were funny enough to be considered jokes) are mine, though. As always, if you have any suggestions/praise/flamage/deep philosophical thoughts, review! I'd love to hear from you!


	3. Telly Tubby Underpants

_I could have met you in a sandbox/I could have passed you on the sidewalk/Could I have missed my chance and watched you walk away? -John Mayer, Love song for no one'  
_

  
  
While George talked to Fred, Hermione snuck off to talk to Ron.   
  
I think Fred figured it out! she said, a worried expression on her face that Ron found strangely endearing.  
  
You mean they know we know?  
  
Yes, but they don't know we know they know we know! I'm going to go flirt with George some more. He's so dumb he'll hit on anything with breasts.  
  
Ron blushed, realizing that Hermione did in fact have breasts, mentally slapping himself each time his eyes gravitated towards her chest region...Damn, that Aberzombie and Witch shirt really did look good on her.  
  
***  
  
After hours of flirting with George, Hermione was thoroughly exhausted. Eventually, though, because of the bludger injury, George forgot why Hermione was hitting on him. Sensing this, Hermione winked and said, Why don't we go somewhere a little more...private.  
  
But we _are_ alone.  
  
This was true. The common room was empty, as everyone was at dinner, except for Ron and Fred, who were well-hidden.  
  
George, being George, nonetheless heartily agreed, and the two set off for a utility closet next door to Great Hall.  
  
said Hermione, once they were safe in the darkness of the closet, Take off your pants.  
  
Aren't we a feisty one. George rather enjoyed the liberating feeling of a fresh breeze around his privates. Hermione stifled giggles, noticing that George was wearing telly-tubby underpants.  
  
Well, I guess they're better than tighty-whiteys, she thought, wondering how and why he bought telly-tubby knickers.  
  
She conjured up a blindfold, which George said was apparently pleasing to him.  
  
Now, make sure not to open your eyes. It's a surprise.  
  
Quickly, she pushed him out of the closet, down a corridor, and into Great Hall. George removed the blindfold to see the entire student body pointing and laughing at him. Of course, the situation was worsened by the telly tubby underpants.  
  
You're amazing, Ron said, bowing in homage to the new Prankster Princess. Seriously, in seventeen years, no one has ever been able to pull one on the twins. I never knew you had it in you.  
  
Well, there's more to a book worm than meets the eye.  
  
At this moment, Ron realized that Hermione was still in her skanky get up. With her slightly tousled hair, she looked...well, she looked hot. All of the sudden, he had the feeling that he really, really wanted to kiss her. But Ron, being a dopey, ducky sort of guy, did the closest thing--he hugged her.  
  
In an instant, Hermione was swept into George's lanky arms, enveloped by the Ronnish smell emanating from his robes.  
  
Ron would be easier to hate if he didn't smell so good, she thought. Our relationship would be much less complicated if he would just quit bathing.  
  
It was strange being in his arms--she had never actually been that close to him. Sure, she was used to half-armed hugs at the beginning and end of each school year, but never anything as intimate as this. It was actually rather nice, except for the fact that Ron's arms were cutting off the air flow to her lungs.  
  
Um, Ron, you're choking me.  
  
He blushed, not realizing how strong he had been embracing her.   
  
Right-o mate, he said, saluting her.   
  
He blushed even deeper now, as a salute wasn't exactly the appropriate gesture to give a girl he really wanted to kiss...In fifteen years of life, Ron Weasley had never been able to say the right thing.  
  
***  
  
Because the prank had cost Hermione several hours of prime studying time, she had locked herself in her dorm. Ron, in a desperate attempt to forget that he had actually wanted to kiss Hermione, was out by himself. This left Harry alone in the common room, staring bemusedly at the scene that was unfolding before him.  
  
Fred and George did not look very happy. Ginny, who had filled out quite a bit since the last year, was caught between them. As she was about their height and had the same red hair, they looked like a three-headed monster, even more vicious than fluffy.  
  
Fred and George were apparently trying to convince her to spy on Ron and Hermione for them. Judging by the ruddy shade taking form on Ginny's face, the idea wasn't going over very well with her.  
  
Oh please, she said, placing her hands on her hips. Why don't you two just leave them alone? I mean, Hermione's my friend. I wouldn't want to break her trust.  
  
So you're choosing Granger over us, your own flesh and blood?  
  
No, actually, I'm choosing Ron over you.  
  
Fred feigned tears. But I thought I was your favorite brother!  
  
Actually, that would be Percy...Listen Fred, I've got a huge Transfig test tomorrow, so I'd appreciate it a lot if you'd leave me alone, and if you don't, she attempted a sly grin, which quickly faded into giggles, I'll tell the whole school about that note from your little Angel' that Mum found in your sock drawer.  
  
Fred turned purple and mumbled an excuse, running up the stairs to the boys' dorms. George looked terribly confused. Of course, ten seconds later, he started humming an indiscernible melody, a blank look painted across his face. The bludger injury had severely damaged his short-term memory, and if his attention wasn't held, he would tune out, thinking of Tahitian babes. Lavender walked by, wagging her butt in a miniskirt, and he chased after her, leaving Ginny alone with Harry. She rolled her eyes, slumping onto a couch. Se blushed when she noticed that Harry was staring at her intently. She tried to focus on her homework but grew even more flustered as she accidentally dropped her quill onto the floor, which rolled toward Harry. She went to pick it up, but in an instant, Harry was there, and the two reached to grab it at the same time. Their hands touched, and their faces were but centimeters apart.  
  
Ginny's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding so loudly that she feared Harry could hear it. Harry wondered how he had never noticed that Ginny's mouth parted--ever so slightly--when she was deep in thought, as she appeared to be now. She gave a small smile and a weak chuckle, trying to dispel the fact that she felt as if her insides were turning into pudding.   
  
Harry thought, giving himself an internal pep-talk. She's just Ron's kid sister...Ron's totally hot kid sister...Man, when did she get so hot? Must have been while I was off fighting Voldemort...Note to self: spend less time saving the world and more time checking out hotties.  
  
Harry's internal monologue was quite horrifying, but at least he wasn't thinking about Tahitian babes.  
  
***  
Hello. I apologize for the slight delay in posting--it's due to illness (I still can't stop coughing) and crisis at the literary magazine and the impending A.P. exams and college couseling meetings (ha!) and a screwy computer (I just got a new one, fortunately) and uber-evil math teachers and parents and friends and boys (just one particulary distracting boy, as adorable as he is--he inspired the hugging scene in this chapter, actually) and all of the things that keep writers from writing. So, with a combination of heavy medication, a peppy attitude and (hopefully) some sleep, the next chapter will be unleashed soon.


	4. Muy Caliente

The Weasley Trap by Ziegod Lizski  
Chapter 4  
  
Fred mumbled to himself, coming down the stairway and looking over the common room, spotting his sister in what appeared to be a rather intimate conversation with none other than the great Harry Potter, Hogwarts' resident hottie. As much as it angered him to see his baby sister (who, although he teased, he still watched over like a redheaded hawk) being encroached upon by a male, the trickster side of his brain still appreciated the possibilities that this situation offered. Skinny Ginny and Hotter Potter? They'd certainly be easier to set up than the odd couple.  
  
Um, here's your quill, Harry said resolutely, determined to beat out his...other brain. It wasn't as if he'd never spoken to a girl, either. But just not a girl whose freckles danced when she laughed, or whose nose crinkled when she tried not to smile, or whose eyes seemed to hide so much in their mahogany depths. He berated himself for never noticing that her hair, unlike that of Ron's, had hints of gold in it that sparkled when they caught in the fire's glow.  
  
Ginny was just so...Ginny. Harry had been chased by his share of girls, but most sought him because of his fame. With their kilograms of makeup, they just seemed so fake...But there was just something special about Ginny Weasley––he hadn't noticed it until this year. She seemed to get prettier by the day, without the aid of makeup or beautifying potions. While other girls feigned modesty, Ginny blushed genuinely whenever someone recognized that she was not, in fact, invisible. He sometimes wished that she weren't so shy, so that he could talk to her (she had hardly spoken a word since he found her in the Chamber of Secrets second year, after all). But then again, if she weren't so shy, she wouldn't be Ginny.  
  
Breaking Harry's train of thought, Fred noisily clomped down the stairs and butted in.  
  
Why are you crawling about on the floor, Virginia dear? a broad grin spread across his face. Have you lost something?  
  
Only my sanity, Harry mumbled as Ginny's ears pinked.  
  
Oh, and by the way, George said in a fake motherly voice, You two would make the most darling couple.  
  
Both Harry and Ginny flushed scarlet, jumping apart at George's words, deathly afraid that he was reading their minds.  


  
***  


  
As it was a Friday night, most of the house was gathered in the common room hanging out, simply enjoying the feeling that comes with the knowledge that they had two Potions-free days ahead of them. In the way that was custom, the boys sat on one side of the room and the girls on the other. Hermione was the one exception to this rule. She found girls to be catty and flippant. Boys, of course, were––were––  
  
Britney Spears is so hot, said Dean Thomas, a dreamy look on his face.  
  
She's not just hot. She's _caliente_.  
  
_Muy caliente_.  
  
At this point, Ron chipped in. I'm sorry, but no amount of Spanish words for hot' will make me believe that Britney Spears is beautiful.  
  
Ron, you know who Britney Spears is? Hermione looked at him with interest.  
  
Everyone knows who Britney is. With breasts that big, she's kinda hard to miss...I don't think she's that pretty though.  
  
Seamus Finnigan exclaimed.  
  
Fred grinned. And just who do you think is pretty, Ronny?  
  
Hermi––I mean, er, you know, girls who don't spend as much money on makeup as could feed an entire third world country. Ron blushed Ron Red and suddenly became very interested in examining his hands.   
  
Hermione watched him––She knew those hands, the knobby knuckles, the bony fingers. She knew the bitten fingernails (dreadful habit, he'd always sworn to quit), knew the faded script sprawled across the back of his left hand, assignments he tried not to forget. She even knew the spots of ink that clung to his cuticles, stains impossible to clean. She knew––she knew...She knew _him_. She. Loved. Him. Not in the maudlin, melodramatic way that existed only in the muggle movies she had been raised on, but in a quirky way. He was her buffer zone, the one who kept her from becoming totally absorbed in her studies. As much as she hated it, he reminded her that there were, in fact, some things more important that grades––Friendship, for instance. And compassion. And love.  
  


***  


  
Fred found George seated on a bench out on the grounds.  
  
Oi! George! I have the most brilliant beyond brilliant idea to get our lovely couples together!  
  
George replied, not looking up from the swimsuit edition of _Quidditch Illustrated_, as he turned it sideways to get a better look at one of the models.  
  
We'll throw a dance party, just like in those muggle movies Dad got! It'll be sure to work. You know, the two friends see each other all dressed up and fall in love!  
  
Now he had George's attention. Like that one with Mandy Moore? She was pretty hot.  
  
Fred smiled. 'Mione needs a makeover, too. The girl always gets a makeover.  
  
Yeah, and a wonderbra.  
  
Well, I suppose Ron _could_ use some more endowment in the chest area.  
  
§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§  
I believe I made a mistake in the last chapter. I said George's lanky arms when I really meant Ron's lanky arms. Terribly sorry if that confused you; I've just been a little sleep deprived lately, and I just finished a George/Hermione fic, which must have thrown me off. Well, now that AP exams arre over, I don't have any excuse not to write. I've got a mild case of writer's block right now, so any tips/ideas would be welcome. Just review or write to ziegod@aol.com. If I don't get enough reviews (I'm hoping for a total of 65), I'm going to make the twins do the macarenaI have good advice for anyone trying to survive school––listen to gansta rap. It's an excellent substitute for therapy. The world is just so cathartic. 


	5. Would You Rather?

The Weasley Trap  
  
  
The following morning, it was pouring outside, the sound of rain falling echoing throughout the castle. Trapped inside and stricken with cabin-fever, the Gryffindors had resorted to playing egregious teengage party games. Presently they were playing a game Seamus had invented called Would you Rather.  
  
  
So, Lavender, Dean said, chuckling at his own cleverness, Would you rather be covered from head to toe in thick animal hair or have Sevvy Snape attatched to your leg?  
  
  
Everyone groaned; Dean always took Would you Rather to new levels of absurdity.  
  
  
You have to answer the question.  
  
  
Fine. The hair.  
  
  
It was Fred's turn to ask now, and he looked positively evil.  
  
  
So, Ronniekins, who would you rather shag: Cho Chang or Hermione?  
  
  
He turned bright red. Um, Cho, I guess.  
  
  
It was a lie of course––Ron's eyes always flicked upward when he lied, and his eyes were up at the ceiling.  
  
  
Riiight...So, Fred grinned. Who would you rather shag: Gilderoy Lockhart or Ron?  
  
  
She looked smug. You can't ask two questions in a row, Fred. It's Parvati's turn now.  
  
  
Fred elbowed George, and George winked at Parvati, who smiled knowingly. Apparently George, although not blessed with a bludger-resistant skull, was still considered to be quite a hottie. Ignorance is always hot.  
  
  
Parvati giggled. Hermione, who would you rather...er, shag, Ron or Gilderoy?  
  
  
All right, all right. At least you didn't mention Victor...I guess, um, I'd rather shag Ron, then, to dispell the fact that she had just admitted that she thought her best friend to be shagable, she added sarcastically, Because he's just so damn hot. I mean, really, how can anyone resist him? All that red hair. Er, he's...quite...yummy, really.  
  
  
All right, my turn! Dean bounced happily. Would you rather poop through your mouth and talk through your butt, or would you rather eat your own flesh?  
  
  
***  
  
  
Fred and George sat in their dorm, comparing the lists each had made of thngs to remember in preparation for their party.   
  
  
Fred's list read: _1) Do NOT invite Dean Thomas. If I hear the phrase Would you rather again, I swear I'll kill that little git. Also, he's not so good with the ladies. 2) Buy butterbeer 3) Use money from wheezes to buy Gin a new dress to impress Harry 4)Make sure room is secure in case George acts like an ass again._  
  
  
George interjected, offended.  
  
  
It's not like your list is any better!  
  
  
George read over his list; it seemed perfectly normal to him: _pinata, Tahitian babe calender, cage for GoGo dancers to dance in, chocolate syrup and whipped cream for human sundaes, giant hampster wheel––kinky!, nose-hair trimmer––I'm getting a little burly up there, giant cake for stripper to pop out of...  
  
  
_Please, George. This is a dance-party, not a goddamned bachelor's party! And please, please do not mention to your nose-hair problem to anyone, okay?  
  
  
Oh, I think wittle Freddyweddypoopants is a wittle afwaid of being embawassed in fwont of his wittle _Angel_.  
  
  
Fred's voice dropped. Did Ginny tell you anything?  
  
  
Ginny tells me a lot of things. Like how no one ever listens to her. Of course, I kinda zoned out in that part, so I don't really remember––  
  
  
What did Ginny tell you about my, er, Angel?  
  
  
Oh, just that... George broke into a sing-songy voice. You think she's pretty! You want to date her! You want to love her! You want to kiss––  
  
  
Bugger off, or I'll tell the whole school about your excessive nose-hair growth.  
  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
George waltzed into the Hospital Wing confidently, chortling Hullo Poppy! as the sharp smell of medicinal potions stung his nose.  
  
  
He had received a note from her to come there, and he assumed that it was probably just a routine check-up on his brain-cell count.  
  
  
Good afternoon, Weasley, she said, trying not to smile. I have some good news for you.  
  
  
Oh! Please tell me they're making female-shaped vitamins now!  
  
  
Fortunately, no. It's about your brain damage, Weasley. I talked to my friend over at St. Mungo's, and he created a potion that will set you right as rain. She handed him a flask of bright pink liquid. Here, drink this.  
  
  
George took the potion––it tasted like bubble gum. Suddenly, though, the world began to spin around him in a whirl of color, and he lost his balance, crashing to the floor.  
  
  
he said dazedly, That was trippy.  
  
  
A concerned look on her face, Madame Pomfrey knelt. What's your name?  
  
  
George Thatcher Weasley.  
  
  
And what is your main interest?  
  
  
While I do spend a great deal of time pulling pranks, I have a secret passion for theoretical physics.  
  
  
Pomfrey gaped. Theoretical Physics--that difficult muggle science? Physics, not stalking Tahitian swimsuit models?  
  
  
Ah, the Oceanic island of Tahiti. The capital is Papeete. Principal economic asset tourism. No, I do not recall stalking Tahitian women, I am afraid.  
  
  
Pomfrey's mouth hung wide open. Do you know any other capitals, Mr. Weasley?  
  
  
Of course. I'll start with South America: Caracas, Venezuela; Bogota, Colombia; Quito, Ecuador; Lima, Peru; La Paz, Bolivia...  
  
***  
  
George is smart! Hehehe! Well, I'll be taking a short break from writing fanfiction, for I am off for two weeks to that pedestrian teenage profession known as summer camp counselor. I hope I shall be able to keep my sanity among giggling 11-year-olds. Truly, in the ten years I have attended this camp, I have always been the nerdiest one. And I'm not that much of a nerd (haha), so that says a lot about this young-Republican camp. Oh, and I learned the South-American capitals at school. We were forced to memorize them. That was 5 years ago, and I, being a nerd, remembered all of them. Also, my apologies for the would you rather scene, I know it was quite trite. I was kind of writer-blocked and needed some filler to get this chapter out before I left. If you didn't enjoy that scene, then review and leave some suggestions!!!!!!


	6. Huge Tracts of Land

  
  
***  
  
Fred sat on a comfy common room couch, charming his quill to write fliers on pieces of parchment to announce his Big Pimpin' party. Something poked him and he looked up to see Angelina Johnson smiling down at him, standing close enough to him that he could smell the shampoo in her hair.  
  
Don't tell me you've planned another Weasley prank and didn't tell me about it! She pouted.  
  
Actually, Georgenme are planning a party.  
  
I saw the flyer: Wicked Weasley Pimpin Party: Bring Your Own Booty, she grinned. And why wasn't I invited?  
  
It's an open invitation. Hot girls are always invited to Weasley Bring Your Own Booty parties.  
  
I'll be sure to attend then, she said, gave a wink, and skipped off to talk to someone else...Something about that girl made Fred feel as if his whole body were blushing.  
  
Just when he thought he had to couch to himself, someone else plopped down.   
  
So when are you going to tell her? chirped a bright-eyed Ginny.  
  
Tell her what?  
  
Tell her that you fancy her, silly.  
  
But she doesn't like me...How could I tell her? She'll laugh at me. I mean, I'm a Weasley twin; Weasley twins don't fancy girls!  
  
How do you know she doesn't fancy you? You know what? You should tell her tonight at the party. That'd be the perfect opportunity. Otherwise, she grinned evilly. I'll tell her for you.  
  
Had she just weaseled him into doing precisely what he was trying to get _her_ to do? Curse that Ginny! He wished he only had her sweet face; that precious punam could let her get away with murder.  
  
She flipped her hair over her shoulder, gave a cheeky grin, and walked off.  
  
You know, I was thinking, said a voice coming through the portrait hole in casual conversation, What if God was one of us?  
  
Fred turned to see his twin chatting it up with a cute 6th year.  
  
Wow! That's really deep! She appeared to be very interested in what he was talking about.  
  
You know, if he was just a stranger on the Knight bus, trying to make his way home?  
  
Mmm...Philosophy is so sexy! She placed her hands across his chest and looked up at him, clearly trying to get her on.  
  
No, I don't think you're grasping the metaphysical significance of what I'm saying.  
  
Fred dropped his head in his hands; George chose philosophy over a girl? This indeed was weirder than Justin Timberlake dumping Britney Spears.  
  
***  
  
There she was. The girl he'd been keen on since he was eleven years old. Blimey – had he just thought that? It just seemed to roll off his...mind...that he fancied her, and maybe he did. Or maybe he was just infatuated with her huge...tracts of land.  
  
But there she was, anyway, across the common room from him, smiling and talking with the twins, complimenting them on their fabulous party, even though it wasn't really like Hermione to relish in social functions...Ron had to hand it to the twins; they really had done a good job transforming the Gryffindor common room into a 1960's shag-lair, complete with hanging cages with go-go dancers inside them.  
  
Apparently Hermione considered it one of the few occasions worth dressing up for. True, she rarely ventured out of her blue jeans and trainers, nor did she do anything with her hair other than pull it back into a haphazard bun. But there she was, in a skirt (of tasteful length, of course) with her long locks straightened into smooth strands of brown...strands.  
  
But it wasn't as if a skirt and silky-smooth hair (Merlin, he wondered, how does she get her hair to do that?) had caused this sudden revelation on Hermione Granger and the attractions thereof. He had always thought that she never looked more beautiful than when she had been up all night studying – wait, he took that back; she was definitely hottest when angry...This was one of the reasons he spent so much time and energy coming up with new and better ways to get her knickers into a twist.  
  
***  
  
I apologize if you do not enjoy my particular writing style--I always walk on the line of utter absurdity, including a delicious cornucopia of Americanisms and OOCisms on the way. I'm sorry if you don't like it; it's just the way I write.  
  
I realize that it's been ages since I last updated. I've been gone all summer!


	7. He's Back!

The Weasley Trap   
  
Chapter 7  
  
  
George had always been a smart boy. In fact, at a pre-Hogwarts prep school, he had even excelled. However, he quickly learned that nobody likes a teacher's pet. He was teased and even gained most of his early beater reflexes from dodging punches in the school yard. Forget the Dark Lord --- children are the cruelest creatures on the earth. Miserable, George soon found another use for his chemistry set, and the prankster was born.   
  
  
Now, surrounded by people he considered quite stupid (except for Hermione, who although quite smart was dreadfully annoying), George remembered that little boy in the school yard. Truly, to be a genius was to be misunderstood. After five minutes of an attempted conversation on the merits of Plato and Democritus, the scantily clad witches who had been hitting on him flounced off to get their mack on with uber-hottie Seamus Finnigan, who was rumored to be an underwear model. These insipid ignoramuses had liked him better when he had fewer brain cells than George W. Bush.  
  
  
Sighing, George grabbed the deactivated bludger that hung on the wall and knocked himself unconscious, eager to return to his former, blissful world of Tahitian babes.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Darkness. And then a distant light. George felt himself hopelessly and blissfully drawn to it, as though he were under the imperious curse. As he drew closer, a man stepped into the light. He looked like a combination of Arthur Weasley and Albus Dumbledore, his face ornamented with a long, red beard.  
  
  
Wow! God's a redhead!  
  
  
What were you expecting, a blonde? Anyway, kid, it's not your time. You have to go back. Fred needs you!  
  
  
Aww, I was kinda hoping I could stay and look around, you know? I wanted to see Britney Spears!  
  
  
But Britney isn't dead!  
  
  
That's what you think.  
  
  
Maybe we could reach some sort of bargain, George. I never can resist a good bargain. You being back on Earth is imperative to the lives of those close to you as well as to the cosmic balance of the universe!  
  
  
Okay, I tell you what, G --can I call you G?-- I'll go back to Earth if you just eat this for me.  
  
  
George fished a spare canary cream out of his pocket, and handed it to God, disappearing down the dark tunnel just as He turned into a yellow canary.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Oh my God, George! Are you all right?  
  
  
At this, he snickered, picturing the Higher Power as a canary, chirping angrily.  
  
  
I'm all right, he turned to an attractive witch in a miniskirt. How you doin'?  
  
  
He's back!  
  
  
***  
  
  
Ginny sighed as she came down the stairs, watching the boisterous scene in the common room and feeling rather self-conscious. The minidress the twins bought her was nice (and obviously not from a discount shop), but just too...trendy for her taste. Trendy in the way that a fifteen-year-old prostitute with webbed feet named Chloe is trendy...Perhaps trendy' is the wrong euphemism, she mused as she tugged on the dress's high hemline.  
  
  
She turned to look at herself in the large, gothic-style mirror at the top of the staircase. She looked, well, skinny. She was used to ill-fitting unisex hand-me-downs that hid her body. She sighed again, wishing there was something to fill out the chest area of the dress.  
  
  
She wondered what had prompted the twins to buy her such a frock. Normally she wouldn't trust a spontaneous gift from Forge, but it had seemed harmless enough. Perhaps they thought her usual wardrobe unsuitable for their party?   
  
  
Desperately hoping that she didn't look too stupid, Ginny descended the staircase. As she entered the common room, several heads turned to see the skinny redhead in the shocking pink minidress. The most noticeable head belonged to none other than the dashing young Harry Potter. Well, he wasn't really that dashing, but it was excused because, well, he was Harry Potter.  
  
  
***  
  
My apologies for the brevity of this chapter --- I just realized that I have to finish four summer reading books as well as start work on my college applications in time to start school on 8/26...grr... *strangles self with mouse cord* Oh yeah, comments on this chapter - there's a lot of self-insertion in Ginny and George. I made Ginny tall and skinny because, well, I'm tall and skinny and have a Ronnish, year-older brother. I know Mrs. Weasley is *matronly*, but lots of people are bean poles and then grow into matronly-ness after child-birth. So there.


	8. Turkish Delight

Obstreperous music from unseen speakers filled Hermione's ears, making her feel dizzy and detached as she stood making small talk with Angelina. Every once and a while, her eyes were drawn to Ron, who was helping his brothers assemble butter beer bongs across the room.   
  
_Why won't he just come over here and talk to me?_, she wondered, absently smoothing her skirt. She turned to speak to Alicia Spinnet when a large hand tapped on her shoulder, startling her.  
  
Ron said softly, his face pleasant.  
  
she replied, feeling her own face redden. Why was she blushing? It was just Ron, afterall...But there was something about Ron's eyes, she mused as she looked into them. They didn't change colors like Harry's (it was easy to tell his moods by what shade of green they were). Nor were they brilliant and beautiful like those of Draco Malfoy. No, Ron's eyes were just...blue, a blue as simple and dependable as Ron himself.   
  
Just then, Katie Bell popped out of nowhere, a platter of biscuits on his hand.  
  
Care for a Pecan Sandie, Ron? she asked.  
  
Without thinking, Ron took one and popped it into his mouth. After all, Ron was never one to turn down food.   
  
You hold on to this one, Hermione. He's a definite keeper! Katie added, giggling, before she walked off towards Lee Jordan.  
  
Hermione exclaimed, a look of exasperation on her face. Why won't they see that we're just friends?  
  
That was when something very odd happened. With a pop, Ron's clothes were transmogrified into clothing Hermione had seen worn by muggle rappers. Odder still, Ron began to sing:   
  


_Oh baby you   
Got what I need   
But you say I'm just a friend   
But you say I'm just a friend  
Cause I can be your   
Fantasy  
But you say I'm just a friend   
But you say I'm just a friend...   
You can call me anytime you like   
It doesn't matter day or night   
We can do whatever you   
Wanna do it's up to you  
Don't fight the feeling that you feel _  
I _can tell that its real   
So won't you help me understand  
Why you say I'm just a friend  
_

  
When he was finished singing, Ron's face became paler than Nearly Headless Nick's, his eyes wide. Terrified, he clasped one oversized hand to his mouth. He had never heard the song he was singing before, nor did he intend to proclaim what he felt to Hermione through such crooning.  
  
Fred yelled over the bemused crowd, I would like to thank my little brother for introducing Weasley Wizard Wheeze's new product: singing sandies! May he and the lovely Hermione have a wonderful relationship with each other.  
  
In a split second, Ron's face changed from white to purple, and (still in his hip-hop outfit), he promptly launched himself at his brother. Surprisingly, Hermione joined in as well, screaming You dolt! How dare you embarrass me like that!  
  
The onlookers smiled - it was nice to have Hermione's rage directed at a different Weasley for a change. While she held Fred down, Ron grabbed the box of Wheezes, grinning madly.   
  
What is _this_, dear brother? he asked in a sadistic voice, pulling out a string of what appeared to be licorice.  
  
No! Not that one! Anything but that one! Fred squirmed beneath Hermione's surprisingly strong grasp.  
  
I think we have a winner! Ron shoved the licorice into Fred's mouth. He tried in vain to chew it, but it grew bigger and bigger and snaked out, forming a long, sticky lasso. It crept across the room, finding a terrified Angelina and tying her to Fred.  
  
Lover's Licorice, he said sheepishly to her, It, er, attaches you to the person that you...that you...that you fancy.  
  
Fred was positively pink from ear to ear, and seeing this, Angelina planted a triumphant kiss on his lips.  
  
You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that, Fred Weasley, she said, grinning.  
  
I'm just glad you didn't kill me for pulling your piggytails, Angel.  
***  
  
Hermione, I --  
  
It's okay, Ron. No need to be embarrassed. It was just another one of the twins' tricks. It's not like you actually feel that way about me.  
  
But the thing is, Hermione... Ron looked lost in thought.  
  
  
  
The thing is -- is...That I really do feel that way. Minus the whole muggle rapper thing, of course.  
  
  
  
I see. I didn't expect you to --  
  
No, Ron. It's just that I -- Oh, feck this.  
  
Suddenly, Hermione did something very un-Hermione-like. As the conversation was not getting anywhere, she pulled Ron's tie to bring his face down to her level.  
  
Buck up, Weasley. You know I fancy the trousers off of you.  
  
For the second time that night, Ron's eyes popped out of their sockets. His face paled, then pinkened, then paled again, as he opened his mouth, no sound supporting his words.  
  
What is it with you Weasley men being so easily wound up?  
  
I, er, I -- Mione -- er, Ron croaked, searching his brain for the right words, I -- er -- Turkish Delight.  
  
Turkish Delight? She raised a questioning eyebrow.  
  
Yeah...Turkish Delight...What I mean is -- er -- Would you like some Turkish Delight? With me? Sometime? I mean, wecouldgettheTurkishdelighttogetheranditcouldbelikeadatesortofmaybeohmygodIccannotbelievethatIamramblingaboutTurkishDelightinfrontofyouyoumustthinkI'msomesortoffreakor--  
  
No Ron, I don't think you're a freak. You're just a Weasley...But Turkish Delight?  
  
If ever there was a moment where Ron felt like stealing Harry's invisibility cloak and disappearing, this was it. There he was, standing in front of a girl who was always composed, always knew precisely what to say. He had just started rambling on about Turkish Delight, a muggle confection he had only tried once, but it stuck in his head, just like Hermione. He looked down at her familiar face, her brows furrowed in frustration with him. This was it -- he had to do something, for he knew from the glint in her eyes that she was mere moments from turning on her heel and huffing away to the library.  
  
Their faces drew closer and closer, until they were mere inches apart and Hermione was enveloped by Ron's soapy scent. Their lips touched -- softly at first -- but in that hushed-rushed instant, their firey tempers were finally pacified. There were no stars or sparks or shivers, and contrary to what Fred Weasley believed, hell did not freeze over. No, it was just two happy hearts and the faint scent of lavender and turkish delight wafting through the twilight air.  
  
***  
  
The version of Just a Friend I used in this chapter is by Mario, although the original (and in my opinion better) version is by Biz Markie, one of the orginal old school mastas. I have a valid excuse for the general loopiness of this chapter (and the frequent mention of Turkish Delight, lol). That excuse is that I am severely sleep-deprived. For those of you who don't know, Turkish Delight is a kind of candy (that came originally from Turkey, Captain Obvious). If you're really curious, you can get it in the States, too. Oh yeah -- this is not the end. I wanted it to be, but I realized that I have a bit left to say (about Harry/Ginny and George). There may be an alternate ending. I'm sorry this chapter took so long to post -- it's very difficult balancing school, extracurriculars, fanfiction and some semblance of a social life. Haha. I used fanfiction and social life in the same sentence...


	9. The Wallflower Dances

The Ninth and Final Installment of The Weasley Trap by Ziegod Lizski  
  
  
  
Ginny had always enjoyed watching people dancing. Just by watching someone move, she could learn a great deal about his or her personality. Yes, she mused, there are many different ways to shake your tushy. For instance, Parvati had a style of dancing that Ginny had never seen before--she gyrated and pulsated to the music in close proximity to several boys, who seemed to rather enjoy it. Neville bounced about, his treacherous shoes stomping on any toes within a five kilometer radius of him.The most charming dancer, however, was Harry, who swayed self-consciously from foot to foot. She could tell that he didn't want to be on the dance floor, that he was just trying to be kind to his numerous admirers.   
  
  
She smiled at this. As an observer of people, she thought, she understood things more clearly than others. Yes, she was a She wasn't bitter about her status on the societal food-chain; rather, she enjoyed being invisible.   
  
  
In what she would later describe as slow motion, Harry turned toward Ginny and began to approach her.   
  
  
Why aren't you dancing? he asked.  
  
  
I'm not a big dancer, she replied, shrugging.  
  
  
But even Neville is dancing, and everyone knows the sheer bone-crushing power of his feet.  
  
  
Well, I just like watching better, I guess.  
  
  
Ginny, there are some things you've just to experience. You can't sit in the stands all your life...You can't just be a spectator.  
  
  
Harry, there are a bunch of girls out there waiting to dance with you. You're the bloody pimp of Gryffindor house! Why are you wasting your time with me?  
  
  
Because--well--the thing is, Gin, I want--I want to dance with _you_.  
  
  
Ginny felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her, as though every organ in her body had spontaneously stopped functioning. _Gin_, she thought, _he called me Gin. Ooh! I love how he says my name! Gin...  
  
  
_She was beginning to drool--had Ginny Weasley's life been a musical, this would be where she would break into song.  
  
  
But--hang on, he muttered, thinking. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, pointed it at Ginny, and said a spell that she had never heard before.   
  
  
Ginny looked down. Where the high hem of her mini dress had been, there were now a pair of old jeans. For the first time that night, she was not shivering, and she realized that it was because she was now wearing a capacious jumper.  
  
  
he said, But you looked very uncomfortable in that, er, dress...if you can call it that. Besides, you look better this way.  
  
  
Taking her hand, he led her out on to the dance floor. Just as they were about to begin slow dancing, though, Lee Jordan (the DJ) started to play a new track. Suddenly, George broke through the crowd, shouting.   
  
  
Make way! Make way! I've got a new dance move! Watch and learn!  
  
  
As he was the victim of severe head trauma and could quite possibly be volatile, no one dared question the redheaded lunatic who had begun flailing about in the middle of the dance floor.  
  
  
I call this one The Quidditch,' he announced proudly.  
  
  
Sure enough, he appeared to be riding on an invisible broom, searching for a golden snitch that only he could see. Despite the fact that George was, well, nutters, the dance was well received and caught on quickly. Soon everyone was doing George Weasley's twisted ballet. Harry, of course, was as good at dancing Quidditch as he was at the regular variety, though he never took his eyes off of Ginny.   
  
  
Off in a corner, Ron and Hermione were snogging blissfully, and Fred and his Angel had taken to beating each other's bludger on the dance floor. And it didn't matter that Voldemort was still alive, didn't matter that her brother was delusional, because for the first time after so many Riddled years of solitude, Ginny knew what it was like to dance.  
  
  
The End.  
  
  
***  
  
Doesn't this just give you the warm fuzzies? It was more fluffy and less sarcastic than the rest of the story, I know, and for that I apologize, unless you're the type of folk who fancy a good bit of fluff. I don't know why this took so long to write. I guess I got a *little* sidetracked. Thanks for reading, though.   
Peace out and keep it real,  
Ziegod


End file.
